In the distance, two masons chipped away furiously at a slab of lime to act as a makeshift gravestone for the old king's interment.

Chapter eight

EDUCATING EDITH AND THE GOLDEN ROBE

Edith Swanneck rose early from her stolen night of passion and hummed to herself as she made her plans for the day. She looked toward the window, and noticed the morning light stream through, playing with the particles of dust that it illuminated, as they floated without a care reflected within its beam. The thin shaft of white moved slowly across the room, past each object as if counting down the minutes on a sundial clock.

The man she loved slept on, dreaming, sometimes mumbling a few incoherent words that were lost to his pillow. Edith smiled lovingly at him then bent down over the bed and softly kissed his forehead, trying not to wake him.

She had many preparations that morning. After all, she thought, Harold is now free to marry me, and then I'm going to be a Queen. I'm going to rule with my man; and Harold will do as he is told. Her daydreams drifted hither and thither. I've so many plans, and so much to do.

She called a maid to dress her in a blue, full-length silken robe, her almost-golden fair hair falling to her waist. She stretched her arms and breathed in deeply. Despite her short sleep, she felt bright and cheerful. She opened the door and walked out into the corridor, dosing it behind her. She motioned towards the waiting maids to attend her. She felt powerful, as she gave orders to various servants, who really didn't know what to make of this.

To the palace chambermaids, Edith was Harold's paramour, a veritable prostitute, yet her bidding that morning, was carried out without question.

She re-entered the bedroom, dosing the door behind her and walked briskly to the door, paused to tidy her gown, brushing off the fluff that the bedclothes found so attractive.

Harold stirred, rolled over and snored even louder.

Edith turned to gaze at him lovingly. She blew him a kiss and moved towards the bed to gently shake her sleeping Harold.

"Harold, my love; It's the time to rise. The bishops will be waiting. They'll be sending word very soon that they're ready for you." Harold stirred from his slumber, but his eyes were still closed.

"Waiting for what?" he asked; he's bleary eyes opened, to see Edith sitting beside him. 7s she part of my dream? He wasn't sure if this was a continuation of yet another dream or if he was awake. He soon realized that he was conscious and was back in the world of the living.

"You've been dreaming, and as usual, talking in your sleep," she said, softly kissing his brow and stroking his hair.

He wasn't quite fully awake and looked a little bewildered, as if he didn't recognize her.

"What did you dream of, Harold? Do tell me. I wish to share your dream." Edith said looking interested.

Harold turned to lean on his elbow, his hand supporting his head and looked thoughtful.

"How do I begin? Do I smell flowers' lavender?"

"Go on; you were going to tell me about your dream."

"Oh, yes. Well, err -- there was a wall, as tall as this one. It was silver- white with people on it, like a mural, except the picture moved and the people moved within the picture. I could hear the people talking from out of the wall, and then I saw you, Stigand, the bastard, and Sigurdsson. Then an odd thing happened. The word Harold appeared on the great wall. I could hear my voice making great decisions as to our country's future. Men appeared wearing strange clothing and offered to help me. They said that with their help, I'd win all my battles. They showed me many strange and powerful devices. They were great wizards from God, Edith; then I awoke, and you were sitting beside me." He rubbed his eyes and sat upright.

"I have dreams like that, too. They are not quite the same as yours, Harold. I once dreamed that I was amongst an enormous crowd. I could see our boys in a huge field running with a large brown egg. They were throwing the egg to one another and running up and down being chased by other men who wanted to hold their legs."

He gave her an odd, perplexed look, rolled his eyes, and grinned like a nine-year-old boy who had just found a gold coin.

"It would be best to keep our dreams to ourselves, Edith. Now, what is it that you wanted of me?" he asked, shrugging off her words, and making a half-hearted attempt to get up.

She pushed him back down onto the bed. "You have to bury Edward, of course. Not long ago I heard the bells toll eight. I let you sleep a while longer. You were so tired last night, and you wore me out, too, remember?" She kissed his forehead and gently rolled him onto his stomach. He felt obliged to conform. He knew the routine well enough. She rubbed and kneaded his shoulders with the aromatic oils he so loved. Edith's fingers were those of an angel, a temptress par-excellence. She knew her man, and she understood his body as he did hers.

"You know I have to be dressed and ready soon, my love. There's the coronation after we have buried Edward's body. There will be a celebration banquet after the crowning ceremony, too. As much as I enjoy the sweet touch of your hands, I really have to move, wash, dress and eat. What's more, I need to be shaved; I feel awfully undressed without my chin shaved."

Harold's implored her to finish his massage, and he felt her kiss the nape of his neck, her teeth nibbling and tenderly biting his flesh, ignoring his demands.

"Ouch! That hurt! How many times have I told you not to bite my ear, woman? You know I don't like it."

"That is why I do it to you. It keeps you alive and alert, and makes your blood run. You're my man, Harold Godwinson, and I will do with you what I like and when I like," she said and smacked his buttock with the palm of her hand then jirmped backward away from his searching arms.

"Bloody hell -- That smack hurt! Do you have to play like that? Where are my robes?"

Edith pointed at a chair that had Harold's clothes draped over it, ready for him.

"They're all there for you. I had the boys bring them here while you slept. The pages put the crowning robes in the king's wardrobe for you, too. I've decided that as you are, with the exception of the crowning, the new monarch of this realm, you may as well get used to dressing as a king. The attendants will dress you now. All that dressing for yourself is finished. My man is king and shall be treated as such. Ooh, I'm so exdted!" She strolled across to look out of the window to see and hear the various goings-on in the courtyard below. Her exuberance clearly was spilling into the room as she twirled about and sang a sweet tune to herself.

"So, I now have to walk all that way down the corridor to get dressed?"

"Don't be silly, Harold, we'll sleep in Edward's old bedchamber; you're king now. It's all been organized. You see; I have my uses, you adorable man."

Harold interrupted her. "Will you please stop reminding me that I'm now king. It's getting on my nerves."

"I'm sorry," Edith replied.

"I must admit it's a nice bed. King Cnut had it made for him and Queen Emma. It has always caught my eye on the rare occasions when I have been in the king's bedchamber. I'll have a new mattress made for it, though. I couldn't bear the thought of Edward dying on that old mattress. I'm sure it's still the original one made for the bed."

Edith sat in a comfortable chair, took off her lambskin slippers and massaged her feet.

"I understood that you were in a hurry to get dressed, Harold. I need to get myself dressed in royal robes, too. I have decided to use this as my dressing room from now on. The ladies can use the ante-chamber for their purposes, and we can have a connecting door fitted."

Harold's facial expression changed dramatically to one of exasperation and near despair.

"Edith! The king's body is not yet cold. My sister is hardly a widow of six hours, and you are talking as though you are queen of England! You will get a grip on yourself and on reality, woman! We may have seven children, and we may have been together for more years than I can coimt, but don't you understand that you cannot become Queen of England?

"I don't see why not, Harold?" Edith looked puzzled. He'd promised her the known world, and now she was becoming more than suspicious of his motives.

Harold rose to his feet and took a stance. He raised his arm with a finger pointed at her. He dropped his hand behind his back, his frustration with her clearly evident. He looked down at his feet that were poking from under his shirt and he felt silly.

"Look. You obviously don't understand. Now that I've become the King of England, I have to sustain my position. I have to have the blessing of the pope, the people, and the magnates of this land, and the rulers of other countries, too, if it comes to that. I rule with their consent. In order that I keep England safe from the wolves that would have me off this throne, I may have to make alliances with other states. I will need to protect our trading routes, thus keeping the country economically buoyant. To protect that state, I may have to take a wife from some foreign country. I'll have to produce a legitimate heir to carry on when I die, thus securing any alliance with a bloodline. I have to keep peace in this land, Edith. I doubt the pope would allow you and I to marry now that I'm king. So just remember that." He stood staring at her face, not knowing if she had taken in what he'd told her.

Edith threw down her slipper, then she stood taller than normal; a fierce, burning look aimed straight at him.

The look took Harold by surprise. He saw that Edith's temper was boiling over, and he saw her face scowl, it was a look that Harold knew only too well. He went to speak, to calm her.

With her hands placed firmly on her hips, she leaned menacingly forward, as if steaming smoke and fire from her lips. She stopped him.

Harold's chin dropped to the floor. He knew that the moment had come when the sun would fall from the sky.

"So, you're planning to sleep with another woman? You Bastard!"

"No. It's not like that." He turned to look out the window. Bollocks! Now what do I do? He thought. He gazed through the glazed portal, his mind working overtime.

"Yes, it is. You just said so! Don't you turn your back on me, Harold Godwinson! We have a family to consider. You told me you'd always be faithful; you promised always to be my man. Now that you're fucking king, you're going to cast me out! Just so you can bed some foreign fucking whore! You bastard, Harold!"

He turned to face her. The light from the window eclipsed by his figure shone like a beacon of fire around him when anger momentarily gripped him.

"You will keep your tongue in its place, woman!" He shouted throwing off his night attire, and in silence, began to dress. He gazed at her, and the pathetic appearance of this once proud woman alarmed him.

Edith stood shaking with uncontrollable anger burning her every being, turning here and there, walking about the room; her hopes dashed. She halted and stared at him, her eyes reddened and swollen. She grimaced. "I'm not good enough for you, hmm? Want another woman, do you? Just you wait, Harold Godwinson; I'll make you regret this; just you wait and see," she said cursing through her teeth.

"Edith! Oh, for the sake of Heaven! Get a grip on your emotions, woman! At some point, I have to produce a legitimate heir. It's not likely that I will enjoy having some other woman in my bed, now...is it? You know I would rather be with yow-- the woman I love! Put yourself in my position. If I were in your shoes, I would hate knowing someone was taking my man, let alone her having a child by him. It's only natural to feel that way, but the country is much greater than our personal emotions or desires. Those duties must always come first. We are but tools to be used for the stability of our people, and our country. I will have to grin and bear it, just as you will, and that's the end of the matter."

"I suppose that you were fucking all the women in Normandy when you were away for nearly a year, too. Come and have a fuck, Harold. I've some lovely girls here for you to choose from. Is that what the bastard offered you? You fornicating bastard!" She threw a stool across the room, and one of stool's legs broke off, hitting him, as it crashed against the wall beside him. Edith seated herself on the side of the bed, weeping.

"What? Do you know what I had to go through, to get back to England after my ship was wrecked off the coast of Ponthieu? Let me tell you, Swanneck. I had to suck up to that bastard, William. Yes, I had to bloody well suck up to him. We were left to rot in one of Guy Ponthieu's jails. I had our son, Hakon, and my brother, Wulfnoth with me, too. They were taken as hostages. Do you know how that feels, Edith, eh?" Harold paced back and forth about the room, his arms behind his back, looking at her, turning his gaze away from her and then repeating his glance.

Edith sat, gazing blankly at the door.

"I can guess, Harold," she said, and stood up wringing her hands, nervously, and turned to gaze blankly at the wall, sulking, trying desperately to find a counter to Harold's arguments.

Harold crossed the room towards her, reached out and grasped her arm, turning her about. He was beginning to boil at her selfishness. It took all of his willpower to control his slipping temper.

"You stupid, shallow woman, you have no idea! I repeat -- when the Normans discovered who I was; I had to leave the boys behind as hostages. I had to run around with him in his sacred bloody Normandy, killing innocent people so he could keep his downtrodden population under his control. Then I had the added humiliation of making oaths and fealty to him. These, I may add, were made under duress. Do you understand what that does to a man, hmm? And why is that? You may ask. Well, so I could get the boys released, and get us back to the safety of England. These are the people I will have to deal with. Now do you understand?"

Edith shook off Harold's grip and strode away from him, looking sheepish. She turned to look out of the window, avoiding his gaze.

Harold approached her from behind, hesitated for a moment, then put his arm around her to embrace and comfort her.

Once more, Edith shook off his touch.

"Edith, I love you more than you could ever in this world imagine. I want us to be together, always. You should know that by now. I've been forced into a situation that is far bigger than both of our desires. The love that we have for each other must be tempered with- -Oh, Edith. I'm not allowed to be selfish with my love of you. It's my greatest wish that I should be allowed to be with you. If I could have you by my side, to marry and have you as my queen, all would be well. I don't have any say in the matter. If I married you, many thousands in this coimtry would die because of our selfishness." Harold's pleading eyes welled as he followed her movements. I've failed, he thought. She's not heard a word I've said. What else can I do? Surely she knows we can be together as we are now, only not officially; that's all. He looked longingly towards her. He moved once more to comfort the woman before him.

Edith walked away, throwing her remaining slipper contemptuously to the floor. The mere thought that the man she loved would even contemplate sleeping with another woman disgusted her. They had always been faithful to one another. Her heart was broken, her dreams quashed, and the world would no longer be her oyster.

Harold reached out an arm, but again Edith turned away.

"Don't come near me, Harold! You're no better than Swein or Tostig. The whole Godwinson family is made up of nothing but womanizers!" She remained silent for a moment. She smelled the food cooking from the kitchen nearby. I will never eat again, she thought. Her disappointment was welling up inside her. She felt pushed away, shut out and discarded, superfluous. She wanted to hit him, to hurt him as he had hurt her. England can go hang, for all I care. England is not a person with feelings and emotions, she thought. "You Bastard, Harold!" she muttered under her breath.

From the door behind him, there came a gentle knocking. Harold turned to look at the door as if someone was about to walk through it. "Yes, what is it?" he called out.

"Your breakfast, sire, and archbishop, Stigand, wishes to speak with you, also," Cedric called through the door.

"Tell the Archbishop that I will be with him in a short while, Cedric. Go and make him comfortable," Harold called back. He looked once more at Edith, determined to make his point understood. He knew he was fighting a losing battle, but he had to try, just once more.

"You see, my life is no longer my own. I now belong to the State. Come along, Edith; we can work through this. You know what we will soon face from these greedy foreigners. You know that I have to do what needs to be done." He noticed her face begin to grimace angrily.

"Oh, go to hell!" Edith made her way briskly towards the door, collecting her shoes as she made her exit. Her face flushed with the rage boiling inside her. Her eyes narrowed, and her lips pursed. Moments later, the heavy oak door slammed shut behind her. There was now silence but for the receding echo of the door slamming.

Harold sat upon the bed, feeling miserable, where, not a few hours before, he'd been happy with the woman he loved. He knew that he had to see the archbishop, but he didn't feel like it. He opened the door and smiled at Cedric.

"Summon the pages, Cedric. I need to dress appropriately," he said and made his way out toward the old king's wardrobe to make ready for the coming hours.

His dressing finished, and followed by an entourage of pageboys, he ambled toward the Great Hall where he met Stigand who was waiting outside the oaken door. The old man was, as usual, leaning against the wood paneling, with a crosier in his hand and one foot raised off the floor. Harold looked pale and morose and thinking of the day ahead, he clicked up a gear. And this, too, will pass; it'll be all right with Edith soon enough, he thought. He smiled at the aging Stigand, and held out his hand toward him.

"Ah, Stigand, we have a fine day for the interment of our late king; do we not" He lightly tapped his friend upon his shoulder, taking care not to touch the old man's foot with his own. He gazed down at Stigand's wrapped toes and shook his head a little. "You need to get that seen to, or they'll be cutting it off."

Stigand ignored the humor. "Indeed, My Lord," Stigand said mindful that Harold was now king. "We've been waiting a little while for you-- have you not eaten?" A shaft of bright light illuminated his gold and silver staff, and shone on the silver-threaded robes giving the bent primate the appearance of a fallen angel.

"No, I've had no time, really. I've just had one hell of a row with Edith, and she's very upset. She's got it into her head that she we will marry and will be my queen. I've had to set her straight on the matter." Harold shook his head and nodded towards the pageboy who then opened the door before them.

"She is a good woman and mother, Harold, but has no training in the art of court procedure, etiquette, or international diplomacy. What else can you expect of her? She'll have to learn to accept her place, and that is all there is to it. I know you love her deeply, but you chose this path, and she needs to understand. She'd been to speak with me some weeks before on the matter of a proper marriage with you.

"I tried to explain, I really did, but you're dealing with a woman, one who has her own ideas as to what should and should not take place at court. She had a fit when I told her that I might have to marry from out of the country to provide an heir. That really went down well; I can tell you," Harold said with a sigh.

Stigand moved to sit on a bench, his gout-ridden toes making their presence felt as he grimaced in painful contemplation of the day ahead.

"I can well imagine her feelings. You've been together so long-- you're peas together in a pod. What did you expect? Come, Harold, let's get our stomachs filled." They moved to a side room, where Cedric waited on the two men while maids brought a breakfast of fish.

Harold chewed on his buttered bread, cheese, and an apple, while Stigand munched through more than his fair share of fish. Harold looked deeply into Stigand's eyes. Oh, Stigand, why is it that you're sometimes so foolish? Do you ever consider and think things over before you speak? You and I have never spoken about God. I sometimes wonder if you really believe in God at all. You're selfish to the core, Stigand, selfish to the core. I know that deep down you're a good man; just be truthful and faithful; that's all I ask of you, old man, he thought.

"So, tell me. What's been done with regard to the burial of Edward?"

"The grave was dug during the night. It's before the high altar, but we'll have to wait a while before the stone can be inscribed."

"I'll leave the wording to you, Stigand. Something simple will suffice for now. Is it too much of a rush to organize?" he asked watching Stigand fill his mouth with yet more fish.

Stigand leaned over toward his new king, and with his fingers pulling down the lower skin under his eyes, showed the redness of his bloodshot orbs. "Harold, look at my eyes. Do these look like the eyes of someone that has had much sleep these last few days? The ceremony has all been organized. Abbot Edwin will officiate at the funeral. We'll place Edwards body in the grave, and with due deference, throw in a few trinkets, the purple state robe, and then we'll have your coronation in the afternoon. How does that sound?"

"What have you organized with regard to the coronation?" Harold asked.

"Archbishop Ealdred will officiate at the coronation; nothing has been left to chance. It's not a good idea for me to crown you. I received my pallium from Pope Benedict-X. If you recall, he was stricken from the official pontifical records eight years ago, and we don't want any comebacks in the future, that is. You could be accused of not being properly crowned, if I were to officiate. Ealdred and I have it all worked out, you'll be crowned at two after the hour of noon. You must prepare yourself to be anointed with holy oils. I should warn you, too, that the anointing will be a messy affaire, at least for you."

Harold looked puzzled. He had never experienced a crowning before, much less heard of it being a messy business. "Ah, yes, Benedict -- that could' ve complicated the matter. Just one moment, Stigand; what do you mean, by messy?" Harold enquired giving Stigand a look of utter bewilderment.

"Well, you have to have your hands and feet anointed with holy oil, then your chest, head, back, elbows, oh, and," Stigand gave a forced cough, "Your codlings, too, of course."

"My codlings?" Harold said gasping in utter disbelief, and soon realized his leg was being pulled, and allowed Stigand go on all the same, playing along with his wicked humor.

"Oh, yes. If at some later date, your queen is to bring forth legal issue, then you must have the holy oil rubbed upon your codlings. God's seed blesses the anointed codlings, Harold. Then there is the drinking of the holy goat's piss, too. The ceremony is not completed until all the rituals have been concluded in full, according to the Holy Scriptures." Stigand said smiling broadly at Harold as he passed him a hot hog's leg from a silver platter.

Harold raised his head and nodded his thanks for the sweet ham. "I'm not so sure about the anointing part of the ceremony, but I'll look forward to drinking the holy goat's piss, Stigand. Have you ever tried it? You ought to; you know. It's really quite palatable," he said, then ate on, smiling.

"I thought you might need to smile, Harold, so I threw that last line in just to see the look on your face, but as always, there is no catching you out. Come along, we must be at the abbey. We have a funeral to attend, and we can't keep the guest waiting now. He'll start to smell if we procrastinate too long."

"He smelled bloody awful before he died; let alone what he must smell like now," Harold replied with a chuckle, and helped Stigand to his feet.

At the main palace entrance, Harold and Stigand met with Ealdred, the Archbishop of York. Together they walked slowly out of the palace to be greeted by a crowd of weeping burghers. Abbot Edwin gave the order to bring forth the coffin, and then led the solemn ceremony of the casket's passage from the king's bedchamber through the palace doors. The Witan and the inhabitants of London followed the abbot behind the coffin in order of rank into the newly consecrated Abbey of Westminster.

Outside, the crowd was silent; all that was heard was the sound of weeping and the monk's sorrowful chant in Latin as they processed ahead. As the procession walked slowly forward, Stigand looked up in wonder at the new and beautiful abbey. He felt the pain in his legs and feet beginning to recede, helped by the herbal remedy that his apothecary had given him earlier in that morning, and was grateful that it was at last taking effect. He looked at Harold and could see that he was nervous.

"After Edward's burial, and when we've finished these proceedings, you'll follow me back to the palace. All the State robes and regalia will, by then, have been brought over ready to don. All you have to do is follow my whispered instructions," said Stigand.

"Well, I have never been crowned before, so I guess I had better follow your lead."

"I'll be by your side at all times, so there will be no chance of any embarrassing moments to foul up the modus operandi. Are you nervous, Harold?"

"I'm about to be crowned King of England, and you ask me if I'm nervousl You sometimes ask the dumbest questions; you really do."

Stigand smiled and hobbled on, making the sign of the cross to the crowd here and there as he passed by.

Harold looked up at the abbey that soared way above him, the long nave filled with people awaiting the arrival of the body of their late king. It was dark, with light slipping through the small but plentiful windows, the dust-laden beams of light illuminating those who stood below. The altar, magnificent and resplendent with gold leaf, was lit up like a beacon by the shafts of sunlight streaming from narrow windows on either side. The king's throne was placed perfectly and symmetrically in front of the chancel to await the afternoon's enthronement. In front of the altar, a grave lay vacant, awaiting the arrival of its regal occupant. Here and there, starlings flew in and then out again as if looking for their king. High above, vast oaken beams held up a roof that was so magnificent a monument to a God, the crown and its country. Carved angels flew in splendor from their static wooden perches, set to look down upon the congregation below, and light flooded the nave. A few moments later, Harold, Edwin, Ealdred and Stigand entered the abbey, and at Stigand's signal, the monks began to chant a lament for Edward's soul, followed by laments sung by the children of court.

Harold and his bishops sat beside the Alter; then the abbey fell quiet. As Edward's body was lowered into the grave, there was a deep sigh from the congregation. AU that could be heard was the weeping of Queen Edith and her ladies.

Abbot Edwin gave an account of the life of Edward, recalling his deeds; and how he had honored Harold by giving the final edict that he was to be crowned their new king.

Bishop Ealdred said the mass, and each attendant took bread and wine. The rushed ceremony was now over, but for the filing of the people round the grave to see Edward for the last time.

Harold and the other dignitaries proceeded slowly out of the abbey and into the cold January sunshine. Behind them, the congregation began to file out of the abbey to be informed at the door that they must return later when the bells rang for the people to be present at their new king's crowning.

Stigand and Ealdred followed Harold into the royal antechamber, where a blazing fire roared and spat, throwing its warmth around the room as if declaring itself the center of attention. The three men warmed themselves against the cold of the winter's day.

Harold gazed at the flames thoughtfully. "You really don't know where you go when you die, Stigand. I mean we could have thrown his body in the river for all Edward knew of the proceedings. I think I'll be buried in some form of sarcophagus; I don't like the idea of being buried under the ground. What if you weren't really dead, just in some deep coma, perhaps? When you recovered you could at least push the lid up and get out. You know, like the nun who hanged herself, some time back. The other nuns were going to throw her body into the river. Well, blow me down with a feather; whilst they were carrying her body away, she came back to life; that was amazing! I'm going to have a bell attached to a cord through a hole in my sarcophagus, just in case."

"Yes, indeed," replied Stigand, "I was witness to this woman's plight. She was to become a nun after she repented of her sins. God works in ways we can only hope someday to understand, Harold." Stigand sat in a comfortable seat, feeling the warmth of the fire on his feet before him. "Well, we're on our own for a while. I suggest we take a little meal before your coronation. This last ceremony took exactly an hour, not bad for a bishop of my years."

"I shall go and see that the preparations for your coronation are at hand, sire," Ealdred said, looking for permission to leave the king's presence.

Harold thanked Ealdred for his work, and bid him leave to finish his arrangements. Harold then sat by the fireside, smiled, and imbibed from a silver goblet a mouthful of his favorite red wine. "I think the queen will come in to see me very soon. I noticed she entered her quarters without joining us, which I thought was odd, for her."

"Oh, no, she is seeing her doctor just now. She informed me that she was not in good humor. The stress of the last few days has been more than she is able to bear. She'll be with us later," Stigand said and promptly fell fast asleep.

Harold made himself comfortable, and he too dozed off into a deep slumber. A few hours later a knock came at the door, and the pageboy called out that Bishop Ealdred was waiting outside. There was no reply, so the boy opened the door and entered the room. "My lord," the boy called, and Harold woke startled. "Bishop Ealdred is here, sire."

The Ealdred entered the room and apologized for the boy's intrusion in waking him.

"Are you ready for me, Ealdred?," Harold enquired as he shook the snoring Stigand from his slumber.

"Very soon. My Lord. The abbey is now quiet, but for the laborers who'd set to work in filling Edward's grave with earth. When I left them, they were struggling with the gravestone, which they're to place over their late king's remains," Ealdred replied as he looked out of the window to see that the laborers had collected their tools and were making their way out of the abbey. "I can see a few pilgrims mingling about outside the abbey, but they'll be gone soon, I'm having everyone ushered away while my men finish preparing for your coronation. I've taken care that the nobles, that is, the earls and thegns are seated at the front, with the lesser, common people at the back and outside. We should hear the bells soon, so we'll know when to prepare to leave."

"How long will that be, Ealdred?" Harold asked.

"With respect, you can't rush these things, sire. I've asked that the monks come for you when they're ready to start the preliminary proceedings.

"In that case, come and enjoy a little wine and a bite to eat. While you're here, I'd like to hear from you what has been going on in the north, these last few months. Also, I'd like your views on one or two matters," Harold said offering Ealdred a seat. I need to change into my coronation robes whilst listening. Page's, bring me the stately robes, and dress me," Harold requested, and the pageboys did as they were asked. While Harold was being dressed, Harold listened to Ealdred's news, and soon, Harold was dressed and ready.

Some time later, there came a light knocking at the door. A young pageboy opened the door, and there stood three monks in the corridor ready to accompany Harold, along with the two archbishops, to the abbey.

"How do I look, Stigand?" Harold twirled about, his heavy purple and gold robes belling out like a tent in the breeze.

"You look just perfect, Harold," Stigand said, grinning. "All you have to do now, is stand upright and walk with due dignity to the abbey. Leave the rest to Ealdred and myself, though I'm only helping, of course, not officiating, remember."

"Can I change my mind about all this, Stigand?" Harold asked.

"If you do, I will kill you with my own bare hands. Now, get out there, and become our anointed king," Stigand replied grinning when he heard the bells toll.

"You know, Stigand, I'd never met such an ungodly person in my life, until I met you."

Harold shook his head, and made his way through the door and into the corridor, followed closely by the archbishop of York who was to officiate.

Harold made his exit from the palace to an exuberant crowd, all cheering for their king elect. His heart was thumping, and he felt that the throng could see the movement through his robes as the entourage made their way towards the abbey. He could hear the gushing of blood in his ears, almost drowning out the crowd's cheering; it was all too surreal. His legs felt weak, so that he almost stumbled on the cobbled street.

He stood for a moment looking at the magnificent Abbey of Westminster, not more than one hundred paces away. Once more Harold slowly crossed the street. He soon felt the abbey steps beneath his feet. Each step felt like a high wall to climb. He felt the nervousness of the occasion as his legs began to shake almost uncontrollably. As he entered the great doors, there was complete silence until Harold had at last reached the enthronement chair. The abbey doors were closed, and the interior fell into semi darkness.

The Archbishop of Canterbury, and the Archbishop of York, Ealdred, approached and stood beside the now seated Harold. Ealdred took a few paces forward, and holding his arms out to the crowd, called out.

"Good People of England, I present to you, Harold, our duly appointed king. If there is anyone amongst you who does not wish Harold as your king, let him leave this holy place now, and go in peace to another realm."

At that moment, the abbey doors flew open, and a mounted and armored knight rode into the abbey. Harold began to feel decidedly nervous as the man rode towards the high altar, and then turned his horse to face the assembled throng of ennobled and low persons alike. He took off his mailed glove, threw it down towards those assembled, and called out in a loud voice that reverberated around the abbey.

"Is there one amongst you who wishes to challenge my liege king's authority to rule this kingdom? Let him who dares come forward, come now, and challenge me to a fight to the death."

Harold leant forward and tugged upon Stigand's robes. "Stigand, what the hell is going on here?" Harold whispered.

Stigand looked down towards his king, grinned, and winked at him. "Your father did the same thing for King Cnut, and we thought Brithnoth was the right man to carry the challenge for you; it's only fitting, Harold. Ealdred and I thought it would make a nice start to the proceedings." Stigand said grinning broadly at the theatrics, and chuckled softly.

Harold gazed in disbelief at the antics that his primate had asked of Brithnoth. "Well, it put the fear of God into me; I can tell you. Just get on with the procedures, Stigand. I feel silly enough in this garb as it is, without your tasteless stupidity," Harold said, tersely.

Not one person answered the call to challenge the knight. The tall, blond haired rider dismounted and led his steed out of the abbey to cheers from those waiting outside while Ealdred and Stigand, with arms raised, stepped out in turn, and looked down upon Harold. He smiled sweetly, and turned to face the crowd before him.

"Do you, the low and common folk, and the noble people alike of this kingdom, trust and implore, Harold, to be your anointed and sovereign king?" In one loud and resounding voice, the throng called out.

"We accept Harold to be our lawful king, under God!"

Ealdred turned towards Harold, beckoned him to stand, and he removed the robes of State from Harold's shoulders, and bade him to be seated once more upon the throne.

Stigand held the golden ampulla containing the anointing oil in his left hand. With his right hand, he lifted up Harold's arms. Ealdred took the golden spoon, and taking a little oil from the ampulla, he anointed Harold under his arms, legs, elbows, head, feet and back.

"Don't you dare come near my coddles." Harold whispered inaudibly, with a grin.

Stigand smiled wryly.

Ealdred gave Harold the Orb, and Stigand passed Ealdred the Sword of State to give to the king. Ealdred then collected the crown from its box and placed the crown upon Harold's head. The sweat began to pour from Harold's face, and his hands became clammy; this was the moment that Harold had waited for. It was the pinnacle of all ambition, yet he felt a tinge of sadness for the woman he loved. Edith Swanneck could not be there by his side. His children were here to see their father crowned, but their mother...?

Where on earth was Edith? Harold thought as he gazed about the abbey. The whole scene was but a dream, like he was looking on as if a bystander. All at once, Harold was startled by the call from the congregation.

"God save the King!" Ealdred called to the people.

Harold heard a great shout from those assembled that startled him.

"God save the King!" the loyal people of England replied.

He shivered nervously, his self-consciousness almost overwhelming him. I would rather fight fifty men, unarmed, than go through this again, he thought. He looked to see what Stigand and Ealdred were to do to him next.

Stigand took from the altar the heavy, leather bound and bejeweled Bible and passed it to Ealdred. Its gloriously gold-leafed inlay shone like the sun as the light from the glazed windows fell upon it. Holding the holy book in front of Harold, who placed his hands upon it, and in a loud voice that reverberated resoundingly around the abbey, the Ealdred performed his last major role of the ceremony.

"Harold, our anointed king, do you promise to keep and uphold the ancient laws of this kingdom-to serve God, protect, and keep the faith of the Holy Church?"

"I promise so to do," Harold replied unfalteringly.

Ealdred whispered to the king his instructions as to what would come next.

Harold looked up into Ealdred's face, and finally, began to relax.

"Now, you just sit tight. My Lord. You're not done just yet because you have to accept fealty from each nobleman here. They know what to do and say. When they come to you, just touch their head and reply with, 'I accept your fealty.' That's all there is to it. You rise from your throne; then proceed outside to meet your people. After that, everyone goes off to enjoy a great feast." Ealdred said smiling.

"And that's the end of the ceremony. I've never been so worried in all my life, Ealdred. You've no idea how stupid I feel sitting here, dressed up like a strutting cockerel."

Ealdred smiled, and in one dignified movement, bowed low, then kneeled before his king.

Brithnoth, now horseless, brought each noble forward. Each spoke to their new king with the words: "I love my lord and king, and give you fealty and promise to serve my king faithfully imto death." Each man then strode outside to line the way to the king's palace.

At last, the ceremony was over. Harold, accompanied by Ealdred and Stigand, walked slowly down the nave to the abbey entrance to be greeted by riotous cheers and shouts of "God Save The King!" from the throng of loyal subjects.

Harold felt hot and imcomfortable. He just wanted to change out of his cumbersome robes, and sleep. He stood at the abbey door when he noticed the unmistakable Edith Swanneck moving towards him from out of the crowd, and he saw a guard stepping forward and stopped her approach, pushing her back into the milling throng.

Harold's love about-turned and walked slowly back towards the palace with tears running down her cheeks.

Queen Edith noticed what had occurred, and on seeing Edith Swanneck walking away, called out to a guard standing near by. "Guard, bring the Lady Swanneck to me, at once!" She saw that the guard was hesitant for a moment. "Well, go on then!" The queen said looking decidedly annoyed, and glared at the man. The queen, her hands upon her hips, watched intently as the man, at last, obeyed her royal command.

"Yes, My Lady," the guard replied, and rushed off, pushing through the crowd with his lance, calling for space. The guard caught up with the Swanneck and ushered her back to the dowager queen.

Edith Swanneck bowed low, and on one knee, felt the queen's hand fall gently upon her shoulder. "My Lady?" she said as she raised herself to face the queen.

"Edith, I understand how you're feeling," said the queen, "I tried to talk to you before you talked to Harold, lest he should make some stupid comments that would hurt your feelings. You know he truly loves you, and with this in my mind, I feel there is some things of which you should be aware."

"What is that. My Lady?" Edith Swanneck looked puzzled, wondering what on earth it was that the queen had to tell her.

"Do you know that England may soon be embroiled in war?" the queen asked.

"Yes, My Lady; it is expected. Harold has spoken of it."

"I had a dream that you found a much younger man, a mere boy, to be your lover. Does that not sound odd to you? His name was Hereward." The queen saw that Edith was now even more confused.

"What a very odd thing to dream. My Lady. Have you consulted a priest as to why you had this dream, and why is it of me?"

"There is a hermit in Winchester. It is said he will know the meaning of such a dream. You will come with me to see him, and together, we will understand its meaning. Edith, don't be afraid, for no harm will come to you or your children. You are under my personal protection."

"Thank you. My Lady," whispered Edith Swanneck looking to the ground. Edith bade the queen farewell, and turning around, took one last glance at the man she loved.

As he stepped down toward the cheering throng below, Harold saw her gaze. He felt the elation, yet the loneliness of his high position. He stood motionless, looking at her. He felt the tears welling up as he gazed at her beauty, and he wanted her by his side, but she looked away, turned about, and walked into the crowd, to disappear amongst the multitude. He felt that all this was but a dream; everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. He looked about for Stigand, who was being helped down the steps by Brithnoth.

The new king made his way amid the cheers of the crowd, followed and surrounded by a guard of brightly dressed housecarls. Their shields were painted in brilliant colors, with the bosses on their shields polished and gleaming in the sunlight. He mounted his horse, a great bay charger. He paraded slowly through the streets of London, clearly enjoying the adoration of the crowd; he was used to that. They were waving and cheering. He called out to them, "Be joyful." Then, after some considerable time, he rounded the corner of the abbey once more, and into the palace square, where he entered the gates to ready himself for the last part of the festivities.

Harold entered the king's palace to bows from the servants and staff. He reflected at how he had bowed to Edward in much the same manner. It felt somehow alien to him. He felt alone, isolated. He wanted to be approachable, yet remain aloof, as a king should. God hadn't touched him; he knew that. Neither was the devil about his person. It all seemed rather strange. 7s this reality or is it all a dream? No, I am king! The King of England, too, he thought.

Next to him, Stigand laughed. He'd never felt so good.

Harold felt the relief that it was all over, and called for wine. They both needed the relief that copious amounts of alcohol would bring to nirmb their now heightened senses.

"Come along, Harold; we have a banquet to attend. By the way, the queen and I will smooth things with Edith. She will soon accept how things have to be; you'll see," Stigand said.

Harold felt Stigand's jolly tone becoming somewhat of an irritant to him, but said nothing; it wasn't the time or the place to tell him to shut up. "Thank the Lady Mary that the ceremony is over and done. Now, I'll rid myself of these cumbersome robes and dress in my usual and comfortable attire." He stopped what he was about to do; he was thoughtful. He turned to Stigand and gazed into his eyes.

Stigand could see the sadness within his king, and it troubled him. "What is it, Harold? Please, tell me."

"Stigand, I want you to pray with me for the soul of the boy, Osfrid."

Stigand looked shocked. He wanted to ask why Harold was so concerned for the soul of this lowly youth of no importance, but thought better of it, and did as his king bid him.

Harold knelt before the archbishop, and placed his hands as in prayer. In silence, they prayed; then Harold stood up, coughed, and thanked his confessor.

At that moment, he understood the goodness and humanity of the man he had just seen crowned king. He looked on as Harold donned his normal clothing and took a sip of wine. "You know, you should now be dressed by your servants, Harold. Now that you're king; it's expected."

"It may have been the way of Edward, but I am not Edward. In this land, I rule as king, yet I rule with my people as my equals." For the moment, he didn't feel like debating the point with him. AU Harold wanted to do was to get this wretched banquet over with and sleep. "Let's get this celebration done with, and then to bed. I am so tired; I could sleep for a week."

Stigand looked wearily into Harold's eyes. "Have you room for two in that bed, Harold?